


Fever Pitch

by robogalaxy



Series: deadlyroses 🌹 [10]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: (tagged just in case!!), Caretaking, Comfort No Hurt, Dialogue Heavy, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, One Shot, Pet Names, Sick Character, Sickfic, Vomiting, anyway rose is a sap and oleana loves him for caring so much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:00:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24734290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robogalaxy/pseuds/robogalaxy
Summary: Never mind her hoarse voice, peckish complexion, and fatigued shambling down the tower's hallways - Oleana was wearingflats.
Relationships: Olive | Oleana/Rose | Chairman Rose
Series: deadlyroses 🌹 [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2162211
Comments: 5
Kudos: 28





	Fever Pitch

**Author's Note:**

> tw for vomit later on in the story - no descriptions too bad, but someone does get sick and i wanna cover all my bases! it was tagged in the story tags as well, but do not want to make anyone feel uncomfortable!

Rose should've noticed that Oleana wasn't feeling well when she walked into his office wearing flats. Someone so hard pressed about their image wouldn't dare leave the house without heeled soles. Never mind her hoarse voice, peckish complexion, nor the dark bags under her eyes and her fatigued shambling down the tower's hallways - Oleana was wearing _flats_.

"Good morning, Chairman," she said as her footsteps _didn't_ echo against the metallic floors, her hands shielding her eyes from the bright lights overhead and the sunrise about to burst through the window, "did you get enough rest for today?" Just these simple questions revealed Oleana's voice to be raw; Rose would have compared it to a Purrserker scratching up her vocal cords as if they'd attacked the fierce thing first. Upon further inspection, Rose noticed the uneven application of Oleana's eyeliner and the futile attempt to cover up her dark circles with barely any concealer. Flats, badly applied makeup, dark circles— Rose would be more surprised if Oleana _wasn’t_ sick. 

A mild cold?

_No, probably a bit more extreme than a simple cold._

Allergies? 

_No, I’ve known her for a bit, and she only gets them when in contact with Cutiefly and in the autumn, and they aren’t this bad._

Sick with something? 

_Well, obviously._

"Did _you_ sleep well?" Rose replied, "You sound absolutely pitiful, Oleana."

"What? No, it's nothing," Oleana mustered under her breath, "my voice is usually this low when I first wake up and get started so early in the morning. This has been true for ages, sir. You should know.”

"You're here a bit later than usual, though," Rose said as he pointed at the clock hanging above the glass Boltund figurine on the bookshelf, "Your voice has been perfectly fine even _earlier_ than this. Something’s going on, isn’t it?" 

"No," Oleana scowled. She was _fine_ and she knew she didn't have to prove herself to Rose in the slightest. She's worked sicker than this before – granted, Rose wasn't around to see her to this work and he had effectively warned her not to so when those days occurred – but that wasn't the point right now. Oleana had better things to focus on (none of which were the ever growing pressure on her sinuses or the bludgeoning headache raging inside her head).

"Also, you're not wearing your heels," Rose said as he pushed out his chair from under the desk and stood up, "Pardon me for assuming, but I swore you never went a workday without heels.”

"A change of pace is good for everyone, Chairman," Oleana scowled, "does it _anger_ you that I'm not wearing heels?" 

"What?” Rose backed away, legitimately taken aback by the scorn in Oleana’s scratchy voice, “Of course not! It's never been any of my concern what you do and don’t wear here to work.”

"Then _why_ did you ask?" Upon paying closer attention, Rose noticed the way Oleana’s words muffled at times, her stuffy nose adding a muddled element to her protests. 

"Alright, alright," Rose said with a smidge of fearful regret, "I'll back off, but I'm still concerned. Please, can I at _least_ feel your forehead?" 

"If it will make you feel better, sir," Oleana mumbled, "but it won't do much. Like I said, I'm perfectly fine." She stood with her arms stiff in front of her, trying her best to conceal the feel of the fire against her flushed cheeks and the ache of her arms as they clenched onto her clipboard. She knew she was caught as soon as she walked into the office, but Oleana was a determined woman, never to give up unless the problem resolved itself or the responsibility fell upon someone else. 

_It’s warm enough outside to use that as an excuse, right...?_ _Oleana, no, it’s almost 50° outside. You’re pretty much caught in a trap — one that is attacking your immune system, yes, but..._

Rose walked over to her, placing the back of his hand onto Oleana's forehead, sharply inhaling, and flipping it over to his palm. 

"And?" Oleana asked, clearing her throat. 

" _And_? That's definitely a fever, Oleana," Rose remarked, "there's no denying that. You're incredibly warm, and unless you've been hanging around Leon and Charizard—”

"I'd never do that willingly,” Oleana objected. 

_At least she feels well enough to voice her mild distaste for Leon’s brash personality,_ Rose thought, _she’s not awfully ill._

"Yes, I assumed so, love," Rose laughed, his smile fading when he noticed Oleana's gaunt expression, "but unless you _have_ been, then it's likely you’ve caught something. Why come in if you knew you weren’t feeling well?”

“Missing work would’ve reflected badly on me, Chairman,” Oleana responded with watering eyes, “and you know I’m slightly behind on preparations for sponsorship meetings. Not coming in is ultimately more harmful than coming in unwell, sir.” 

“Stop ‘sir’-ing me, it’s okay,” Rose said as he ran a hand through Oleana’s hair, a minor pout adorning his face as he worried for his assistant's health, “Oleana, love, you’re _sick_. You’re losing your voice with every word, you’ve got chills on your arms, and you’re warmer than a Sizzlipede in summer...whether you like it or not, you’re sick.”

“What one could consider sick is subjective, sir,” Oleana responded. She ignored Rose’s plea to call him by name, her work ethic overpowering the inherent urge to drop into Rose’s arms and sleep off the illness, “and _I_ think I’m fine. Can’t you understand?”

“No, actually, love,” Rose said, “I can’t.” He grabbed the clipboard from Oleana’s hands and tossed it onto the desk behind them, eyes staring into Oleana. He reached for the phone on his desk while Oleana looked on with confusion, a headache clouding her vision and her hands shaking with the shiver of what they both assumed was the onset on a flu. 

“Who are you calling, sir?” she asked with a whisper, like she had finally admitted that her voice was better used softly. 

“I’m calling you a Corviknight taxi, love, that’s what,” Rose said, “and you’re going to go home and rest up. I could get sick just by looking at how pale you are.”

“You’ve always been so dramatic…” Oleana responded, sitting down at the seat across from the desk, tapping her foot against the floor, “but if you absolutely insist.” 

“Of course I do, Oleana,” Rose answered before it was apparent someone else had picked up on the other end, and he spoke politely that he needed a taxi to come to Rose Tower, yes, yes and preferably quick, as someone was sick and needed to get home to rest. He thanked the others on the phone and hung it back on the receiver before he walked up to Oleana. 

“Antony, I assure you,” she said as she looked down, not meeting his overly protective gaze, “I’ll rest.”

“And you promise this?”

“Promise. I’ll only do paperwork and won’t look at any screen—”

“The only thing you need to be looking at is darkness, love,” Rose said as he leaned down to kiss the top of Oleana’s head, “and by that I mean your eyes will be closed. Because you’ll be sleeping.”

“Thank you, I had no idea.” She sighed and stood back up, her feverish hand reaching out to hold onto Rose’s for a bit before he placed a small kiss on her heated forehead (“Take your temp as soon as you get home for me, alright, darling?”) and turned her around to walk towards the lobby. 

“I’ll come see you after the day’s over, alright?” Rose called after her, a warm smile on his face. 

“You don’t have to, sir,” Oleana responded with the same hoarse tone, flats yet again _not_ clicking against the floor.

* * *

With the workday finally over and the hours of worrying sick over Oleana being sick behind him, Rose knocked on the door of the high-rise, a bottle of medicine in his left coat pocket and a bag of tissue boxes he had bought on the way over grasped tightly in his right hand. He waited outside and looked around the entrance of Oleana's home, always fond of the small floral arrangements that sat on small tables by the door. They changed often, as Oleana always grew bored of the same flowers, and this month they were small mums, pink and white, in silver pots that reflected Rose, still standing. He looked straight at the door, knowing Oleana wasn't going to answer immediately. She was sick, after all, but he received a call earlier where she claimed she was doing better, but Rose knew better than to come empty-handed. He should have known better than to come at all; Oleana was prone to giving him an earful when she was firm in the belief that she was absolutely fine without him around to baby her, after all. Despite, Rose came around anyway, ready to cater to her needs if she were to fall faint. He knocked again, about ready to turn around to let her rest before he heard Oleana from inside, coughing. 

_She does always sound so pitiful when she's sick._

Rose tried his best not to focus on what he heard, knowing that the more he listened to it, the more upset he would grow. The last thing he needed was to make himself feel bad when Oleana was feeling worse and needed him (no matter how many times she would object to his help), but it grew louder. 

"Oleana? You alright in there?" he said as he raised his voice and knocked on the door again, expecting a meek "yes" or a tirade of how he didn't have to be there in the first place. Instead, the coughing stopped and the sound of a gag overtook it. Footsteps ran across the floors inside, a door slammed open and Rose winced as he realized what was happening, trying to ignore Oleana as she fell sick, coughing and trying to catch her breath. 

_Oh, love... if she had done this at work, she would never shown her face again._

Rose stood out and sadly listened to Oleana hack and gag until it was silent for a minute. The sounds of the toilet flushing followed by the running of water as Oleana washed her hands were muffled through the door, Rose tightening his grip on the bag as he realized that maybe tissues weren't what he needed to get in the first place. The mums still sat gorgeously, and Rose set his sights on them until the sound of the door unlocking drove his attention to right in front of him. The lights inside of Oleana's house shone bright into Rose's eyes as she looked absolutely exhausted, mascara running down her face as her teary eyes continued to leak. 

"Oleana, love, I'm sorry to come by, but—"

She didn't care he had come by, and she felt herself stumble into his arms, shivering. Her voice shook as it did before she had gotten sick, and it asked for Rose to bring her a blanket and let her sleep. 

"I got sick," she mumbled tiredly, "an-and I wanna...." 

"Yes, yes," Rose responded as he walked forward into the high-rise, Oleana still wrapped in his arms and the door wide open as he led her to the couch, "it's alright." He laid her down gently, stroking her hair. Rose turned around to close the door behind them and turned back to see Oleana curled up on the couch, eyes closed. 

"You want to sleep?"

"I wanna sleep," she mumbled, "I got sick."

"I know, darling," Rose responded as he walked to her room to grab her biggest blanket, "don't worry about it. Just rest, Ollie. All I ask of you." 

"Okay," Oleana mumbled. Her voice was weak, but Rose was able to understand her reply. 

"Are you cold? Warm?" Rose asked as he covered her up, placing a palm on her burning forehead. 

"Both, and I wanna—"

"Let me guess, love," he interrupted, "you want to sleep?"

* * *

Fingers traced over the velvet of the blanket covering her, the lights of her living room dim as half lidded eyes looked to see her arm hanging off the side of the couch. Beside it sat a small bin for her to get sick into and a bottle of ginger ale dripping with condensation. 

_Oh, no, he heard me getting sick, didn’t he?_

Oleana assumed she had fallen asleep (and she was plenty thankful if that was the case) and Rose had gone ahead and laid her down. She felt chilly despite the warmth of the blanket, finding that Rose had also rid her of her coat and choker. They sat on a loveseat across the room and explained why Oleana felt such a chill across her shoulders. Her laptop had been put away too - _of course it was, though,_ Oleana thought, _Antony hates me overworking myself._

The sound of footsteps garnered her attention, and they seemed to be walking into the kitchen to check on a blinking light over the oven. Rose pressed a button to stop the flashing and looked over a pot on the stove. He hummed softly to himself as he grabbed a spoon to mix up the soup, warm and steaming, a recipe he'd always depended on when he felt like his own body was fighting against him (and technically for him as well, much like a Ghost vs. Ghost type matchup - Dragon, if the infection was stronger). He looked over his shoulder to see Oleana lying on the couch, unaware she was awake. Disturbing someone when they were asleep, especially if they were sick, and _especially_ if they were Oleana, was a rude thing to do, so Rose kept his voice low as he began to sing out loud to himself. His hand moved with the melody and stirred the soup, cozy lyrics about the forest moonlight entering into the air. Rose would have been singing something a bit more upbeat if it weren't for Oleana asleep in the room behind him, but he could bear to sing something soft if it meant he could keep his darling resting.

Oleana wished she could smile at what she heard, laugh at the botched notes Rose sang, but her chills kept her buried under the blanket and her throat like sandpaper kept her from saying anything. Instead, she simply melted into the couch, waiting for Rose to come with her food and his kind offers to open her drink, maybe placing a cool cloth across her forehead, and if he didn't sing any louder than he was currently, it would be the beginnings of a lovely remedy.

**Author's Note:**

> 🥺 listen........ i'm a sap for sick fics and i love them.........and ..... and i got hit with the Olearose Urge again and thus: here you go. 
> 
> thank you SO MUCH for reading! feel free to leave kudos, comments, and bookmarks~ <3


End file.
